Mystery Dungeon: Spirit Children
by Route One
Summary: What sort of world is this? One where Punishers exist, tasked with sentencing pokémon to Mystery Dungeons. One that allows cruel intent to manifest and invade a pokémon's very spirit. One in which a young charmander receives a rare power, yet still can't protect his loved ones. What sort of world? One, Bleak somehow believes, blow after blow, that still has hope. PMD AU. Violent.
1. Opening: An Evil Will Returns

**1\. An Evil Will Returns**

* * *

Brazen agreed to meet the punisher at a halfway shack, some miles out from the safety of her peers and the villages she watched over. It was out-of-the-way for either of them yet still he thought, this should be a fair place to speak.

Overgrowth on the walls choked the scent of sun-warmed wood. The shack had its one room and, defying regulation, locals had plundered the basement's stores. It was the sort of room no one wanted to remain still in, seeing as how the growth seemed to envelop everything. The ninetales remained calm in the face of rising tension, the creepy sensation of ivy crawling up one's hindquarters.

The pidgeotto next to him ruffled his feathers. "It's nice out today," he said, bowing his head. "Can't we just meet her outside? Or at least send me on another loop."

After some deliberations, begetting a long pause in the already-quiet shack, Brazen muttered.

"No. It's important we stay here."

The pidgeotto shrugged and started to pace about, testing the creakiness of the floorboards. It almost looked as though the bird figured it out, that it wasn't a good time to talk, but then he spotted the latch leading to the storage.

"Were these really built in case the dungeons acted up?" He asked. "I've... never been in one. Sort of sad, if you ask me."

"How so?" Brazen replied, giving up the calm. He also started to inspect the room, though he refused to move from his spot.

"If punishers—er, us—ever failed to keep the dungeons in order, this is all we have to answer for it. Wood. I'd expect stone castles and mile-deep foxholes, something to keep ferals out. Guess there's no need!" He gave a proud shake of his plumage. "We all do good work. Especially you, _sun fox_."

Brazen snorted. "Don't call me that." His chest grew tight.

Outside, birds continued to web together songs. A breeze filtered into the lifeless, uneven air outside, shaking the lower branches of trees.

"Flightly," Brazen said. "Remind me to order these halfway shacks stocked."

Right as Flightly turned to give him a puzzled look, a sawsbuck pushed her way through the door. The ninetales needed another pair of legs on top of the ones he alread had to match her height. She had a punisher's pattern—a sort of floral design forming a cross—stitched into her own hide, a symbol of dedication indigenous to these districts located in the fringes. Her shoulders rolled with firm muscles, and her eyes were a symbol of health, pupils tight and understanding behind them very keen. The pidgeotto wiggled off a bit of misplaced envy. He was a warrior-type himself and couldn't help the comparisons.

Brazen allowed the two to get over themselves before jumping in. "Lim, thank you for coming out here."

"I can hardly think straight," Lim admitted, chuckling. "I... this is a weird meeting."

"I might be a duke, but you don't need to feel uncomfortable. I am Brazen, and this is my protegé, Flightly."

His student bowed low. Lim returned the favor, and with that, they were all broken in. Brazen took pride in the speed at which punishers bonded. It was the result of the sun fox's mandate. Firstly, all punishers shall work in districts, to create tight relations between officials and community. Secondly, punishers in a district will refer to their fellows as family, which ensured closure, considering how many officers started as orphans—made by the act they now swore to carry out.

Lim's eyes shone. "What brings you out today?"

"Bits of stories from your district made their way to me," Brazen explained. "The grim kind. Is it true a child drowned in the river next to Blune village?"

She took in a haggard breath. "Yes. I arrived first."

"And an older pokémon, under the weather, lost himself in a daze, became tangled in thornbushes, and starved."

She hung her head, a sign her repsonse remained unchanged. Lim found this pokémon as well.

"There are two others I won't describe. A lot of punishers rumor that I don't pay close attention to their lives. I do pay attention. I collect every single report from every district in Orchidia, and I have a team dedicated to finding patterns. You seem to have stumbled onto a lot of death lately. Enough so to make me leave my ivory tower, so to speak, and meet in musty shacks."

The sawsbuck grew antsy. "I... why are you saying it all like that?" Her voice grew more and more breathy. "I didn't have anything to do with anything _except_ finding them dead! I can barely look at a corpse. The child, I first caught a glimpse of his damp little paw. From that I could tell the entire thing was gone. We get so used to simply punishing, sending pokémon into the dungeons to... to die, no. I could never."

Flightly shot him a sidelong glance, as if to say _what's your plan?_ Hoping, for sure, it included more than harrasssing a grieving sawsbuck.

Brazen stepped forward. "I know how you must feel. There is a reason I called you out here."

They all waited.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, without alerting the villagers to any weakness. Your mental health matters to me, commander Lim. I apologize for the panic. Perhaps I ought to announce my intentions first—the concept of these check-ups are still in their infancy."

Two relieved sighs filled the room. The shine in Lim's eyes returned, the beginning of a grateful tear emerged in one's corner. "Oh!" She brayed. "I can't believe someone so important would... wow! I am grateful beyond words. I'm—I'm fine. Our duty is too important to let ghastly things stop us."

Brazen had been waiting for a reason to smile. "I am glad to hear you say this."

"I am glad to be able to say it. Becoming a punisher gave me the family I never had. My mother was chosen for punishment and father..." she shook off a tear.

The ninetales softened his smile. "Would you like to go hunt with Flightly and me? I can prepare cooked meat with my fire, and you may bring the rest with you. It will be a good excuse for our meeting."

"Hunt with a duke?" Lim almost fell over her legs. Many hated orphans because they knew, one day, it would be these parentless whelps leading them into the dungeons. It was a dream-come-true in the shack, a life where respect existed. "Yes, yes! I'd love to."

Flightly loved the idea as well. "Great! We can bring what we fetch back to Blune's winter stores, right? We can't worry about the dead. Just the living. Pah... leave it to the sun... to Duke Brazen to lead me out here for a lesson on compassion. He even had _me_ going for a moment, and I practically live with the sly fellow."

Lim, busy ruffling herself in preparation for the hunt, let loose a comment. "Weakness sprouts up, you know. It's how I try to explain what happened. You can't stop creatures from being weak, all you can do is grieve for them."

The ninetales stopped half-step. "Oh no!" He gasped.

The two punishers also paused, confused.

"Lim, Flightly, we need horns in case we get separated. Better that than coming to this forsaken shack again."

"Yeah," they both cheered.

"Lim... mind getting the door to the basement? There are some in there, but the door's heavy."

Flightly shot him a glance that said _there's stuff down there still?!_

"Of course," she said, her hooves clacking on the floorboards. With a gracious bow, smile lining her face, she lowered herself to pull on the latch's rusty handle. A jarring creak forced the ninetales to fold his ears. Then he went full-fold, curling into a ball to shield himself.

A string drawn taut between the floor and the trapdoor broke. A contraption clicked twice into place, followed by the _fwoosh_ of a stored combustion mechanism. Lim's expression became gaunt in the mere milliseconds before the payload flew out of its snug spot.

Like motes of dust caught in sunbeams, a thousand splinters floated about in front of the door. Howling, the sawsbuck flew several feet back to where Flightly had stood. Brazena had his jaws locked on the pidgeotto, dragging him to the front door. Flightly was a warrior through-and-through, and yet even he became paralyzed in the face of an explosion trap.

"W-What's going on?!" His student stammered, lunging towards the writhing punisher, instincts crying for him to help.

"Come on! Out, out!" The ninetales butted him through the door, whipped around. He caught a single look of Lim's eyes among the mess, and knew: he was right to spin around and spit fire onto the floor before bounding outside. He bent over the stairs and removed a concealed iron rod from beneath them, and with it, jarred the door closed.

The flames took up with the newborn breeze. The smell of sun-warmed wood transformed into a burning stench, the sky seemed to take on the color of ash. It was everything Brazen had—and more—to stave off the thoughts flurrying in his head.

"Did you—you lit the shack on fire?!" Flightly yelled, starting to flutter about.

Brazen took deep breaths to combat his dread. "Yes, I did."

"You murdered her."

"I..." he scratched his cheek free of soot, one eye locked on the blazing building. "Y-You know when they... they use that word. _Weak._ If you hadn't goaded her into talking, she'd have led us into the forest..."

"Yes, on the hunting trip you offered!" Flightly shouted. He seemed close to blows with his teacher.

"To attack us," Brazen snapped. "Stop questioning my actions, I'll explain—"

A loud _crack_ came from the front door.

Brazen fell into a fighting stance. "Flightly, please, help me."

 _Crack._

The birds had long left by this point, the ones not pokémon, at least. Miles away villagers enjoyed the last few days before winter, where stores became short and trips out turned into dangerous endeavors. Somehow, the raining destruction felt frigid as snow already.

 _Crack._ The pidgeotto wheeled about, racked by indecision. Every part of him likely screamed to help break the door, imagining a fellow punisher burning to death on the other side.

"Flightly!" Brazen roared. "I can't beat it alone—"

 _Crack—CRACK!_

Lim burst out through the front, without a sound of her own. Silently, flames trailing off of her hindquarters, face shredded by the blast, she made straight for the duke. Too surprised by the creature's silence, Brazen failed to move out of the way as she headbutted him. He rolled with the blow, having her antlers deflect off of his shoulder. He managed to snap the antler since it was made brittle by heat. A cushy life hadn't taken _every_ bit of fight from him.

The shack's fire raged on taller than all of them, as Lim wheeled about to continue the assault, not a care given for her antlers. This wasn't punisher willpower. No, the sun fox would never train a pokémon to ignore its own body crumbling down. He imagined her alone and hurt. Not able to quell the urge to harm, incapable of stopping to nurse her body.

Pity washed over him as he prepared to bring down her legs with a slash. It was this gap that allowed her hind legs to rear up. He attempted to spin out of reach of her kick. Still the full force of her hooves flew into his hind leg, sending him skidding at high speed. A clump of grass tripped him and he went sprawling into a trunk, smashing back-first. He gasped for air. Flightly had fled, either cowed by Lim's demonic presence or too confused to choose a side.

Knowing she had bested the ninetales, Lim took in a deep breath.

"You thought you were clever," she said. "I think you took an eye with that trap. I need only one, though. Perhaps, none." She pranced about, slipping as a leg temporarily gave out. "Look at me! Strong enough to take on the sun fox."

"I'm out of practice," Brazen growled. "There are others far stronger than I am who will finish the job."

"Why hunt me? I'm genuinely curious. I mean, there is nothing wrong with practicing, becoming stronger. For all your policies and mandates, you don't believe in progress. I ought to have suspected so from a political animal."

He hiked up his hind leg. It was made limp by the attack, but not broken. If he kept it under himself, he could dodge, make a plan from there. "I have seen your kind before. You slaughter those you find weak! You bestow foul energies upon one another."

"Give me three reasons anyone should care for them. I remember being young. All the grownups played nice when they figured it was someone else's day of sacrifice, a day for someone else to fall off the earth. I survived off of _at least it's not me_ money. Not any longer... not in the world I am making."

"I believe in more than your delusions. I believe in, someday, not having to sacrifice pokémon to the dungeons at all," he said, stalling for time. "One day, I hope pokémon as a kind can return to exploration. It looks like neither of us belong in the other's world." He raised his voice to match the roaring fire behind them. "I have no room for lost souls such as you."

Lim scowled. "You're the only one who's lost, here."

She lowered her head into a rapid charge. Too fast to roll out of the way without her swinging around, causing collateral on both sides with her giant gait. He couldn't afford trading another blow. Thinking two moves ahead, an advantage in battle, sometimes inspired the hopelessness which keeps fighters rooted to the ground.

Closer, closer. The hopelessness tangled his legs. _Someone more capable will do better than this_ , he concluded, closing his eyes.

He was right, in a way.

Flightly came exploding out of the tree line, wings tucked in. With a cry that revitalized the ninetale's nerves, his protegé smashed beak-first into the sawsbuck's head, challenging a monster that had to be three times his weight.

Lim was stopped in her tracks. The rest of her body shot upright, head pinned by the pidgeotto's body, before all of them came flopping down. The pain made the breeze into gusts, still Flightly persisted, converting his stumble into an artful recovery. Now that he chose a side, he could fight with grace. Now that he knew it was the right side, he managed to hike his wings up. He thrust forward, picking up the punisher in a gust of wind.

She skidded along the ground, rolling, fighting the wind-blast, all the way until her back hit the burning shack. Her body ignited as the air folded in on itself.

"Not fair!" She howled, trying to squash the flames. "Ambushing me, _pathetic._ I can beat this fire again. I am strong." No matter how much she bucked, she was too tired and battered to stave off the ninetale's flames. Quelling them was a matter of willpower. It was why fire pokémon like him could fight these monstrosities.

"Nevermind. I can't," she concluded, stumbling down, a blazing wreck. "Well-played, Flightly."

"Whatever's going on in your head, I caught a glimpse of the real you." The pidgeotto tried to hobble close, but Brazen lurched into his way. Getting close might inspire her to attempt one more attack, ruining her final, precious—lucid—moments. "Save a spot in your pack when you reach the void."

She nodded. "I apologize to the pokémon of Blune. And my siblings, they are..." she flopped over.

Silence, beside the fire, returned.

"She was responsible for it all," Flightly murmured. "But she sounded okay. Brazen. How did this happen?"

"I'm not sure how these pokémon come about," Brazen told him. His back leg regained its feeling, and its feeling was soreness. "They are compelled by a force I think is related to the dungeons. If you hadn't urged her to make that offhand comment, we would have both been slaughtered." It took an explosion trap, being cooked, throttled by Flightly and burned twiceover to make the beast succumb. "Thank you. I know I wronged you today. But if you were aware, she would have smelt your suspicion and went on guard."

Still, Flightly looked upset. "I'll go put out this fire," he said.

Despite winning, the hopelessness which rooted him before now lurked in the back of his head. Years ago, this ailment broke out, but that time it disappeared on its own, left to be a tragic phenomenon among the others battering their world. Now he knew enough about it to understand its meaning. This was symptomatic, or a sign, of greater troubles.

Taking in shallow breaths he walked over to his bag. To draft a letter to his fellow duke, the moon fox Willard. The planned message echoed in his ears. Two lines:

 _The energy in the Mystery Dungeons has broken free at last,_ it would read.

 _The punishers have failed._

...Make it three lines.

 _I have no idea what to do._

* * *

 **Mystery Dungeon: Spirit Children**


	2. 2: Punishing Day

**2\. Punishing Day**

* * *

"Enemies on our right flank!" Bleak yelled, rolling behind a nearby rock.

He wiggled backwards, focused on keeping his feet from punching through the soft snow. Bursts of energy sailed overhead. Lightning crackled... followed by a torrent of water that left mist trailing under its path. A combination like that could leave a charmander too paralyzed to kindle his tail-fire again. What were these monsters, anyhow? Their violent nature seeped through his rock as if it was porous, and he sensed an intent to harm.

He pitched his nose up. "Aiyee, I need help!"

"On the way."

Aiyee leaped on top of the rock, curling his hind legs. He let the energy out in a giant leap, log-rolling twice mid-air before hititng the ground in a sloppy skid. The charmander couldn't help flinching the whole way.

"I'll use my shadow powers to conceal myself," the poochyena called back. "You shoot fire as a distraction."

"This is bad, real bad," Bleak cried. "These ones aren't like the others. They're stronger, faster, I can't get a read on them."

"We can't go down here, so do your best. I mean, worst—to them."

Shaking lightly, Bleak pushed up against his cover, readying himself for attack. The attacks above his head now resembled a full-on thunderstorm, and he feared that even a second out of safety threatened to get him struck.

The wet crunch of Aiyee's paws in the snow faded. His brother was so good at sneaking, even Bleak had no idea where the dark-type went whenever he descended into the shadows.

A shout came from near the monsters, which howled in response. "Attack now, now, I got one's leg."

Bleak took in a breath, crawled onto the rock, and opened his maw. _Now or never_ was the thought racing through his head. These monsters guarded a time-gear, defended a world where time itself devolved into meaningless grey. They wanted the guild to stay destroyed, Treasure Town to remain a ghost-town, and all the world's wonder to be brambles and thorns. Anger had to be an emotion far off his usual, but he managed it, yes, he pushed it out, mustering it into a powerful burst of fire-type magic. _Go, go, go!_

"Fwoosh!" He yelled, clacking his teeth at the monsters. "Fwoosh, fwoosh!"

"Pow," Aiyee growled, butting head-first into the snow. "Bang, pow." He rolled out of the way of his brother's fireball, giving a small squeak to simulate their enemy's anguish. His tongue flopped out, ear-to-ear grin on his face as he fought the imaginary monsters.

The charmander quit shooting 'fireballs' and sat there, enjoying the scene. It was amazing how far their game had grown.

It was a sunny day, punishing day—but bright. Today of all days, a sort of damper crawled under the poochyena's coat. On days like this, a chosen pokémon made the walk into the Sixburrow Mystery Dungeon. To disappear forever, so they might all survive one more year. For a poochyena who asked friendship out of anyone in sight, it hurt. For everyone else, it was a day of guilty thoughts, wishing death on others... or facing the fact one was ready to make the trip. For Bleak—he never minded. Cold, humid heat, specks of dirt in his drinking water, these hurt, had the potential to kill him if left untreated. Yet this sadness grazed by unannounced, and harmless.

Two years ago, a poochyena lost his father to the dungeon, and his mother after she refused to eat, and found himself stuck in the orphan's den. He heard a charmander's own mother used to own books, and asked him: _can you read?_ then _can you read this?_ It was a giant account on the Heroes of Time, and how they prevented the death of time itself. A month into readings, he asked Bleak for another favor:

 _Can you help me pretend to be the hero of time?_ Aiyee had asked. _I'm not very good at thinking smart like you._

Aiyee's happiness was his responsibility.

"Hey, Bleak?" The poochyena said, finally done throttling their attackers. His sloppy grin had devolved into dismay. "Were the monsters back then pokémon?"

The charmander started to speak, but paused for lack of an answer. He restarted and floundered through his words. "I—well, the book doesn't say. Grovyle was portrayed as bad, I guess. Dialga and Dusknoir were evil. There's evidence for it." In their imaginary games, the opposition never appeared as much more than goopy shadows. They grew whatever body parts they needed to keep the game fun—tentacles, knives-for-hands, anything.

"Dialga and all them become good," Aiyee replied. "So did the heroes get rid of pokémon who might get better?" Ears folding, he clambered onto the rock.

Bleak breathed out and sat next to him. "Um..." Aiyee's mood required some wordsmithing if they wanted to escape their error. Gallons of imaginary blood was on their paws and claws. He smiled, putting together a counter. "Who says the heroes killed their enemies? I never read that."

Aiyee mulled it over, muzzle rising a few inches as he tried to recall the words 'kill' and 'die' in three volumes and two-hundred pages worth of fables. "You're right," he said. "I mean, I bet heroes knock their enemies out."

"They lock them away and help them become good," Bleak said. Not many examples of imprisonment in Sixburrow. Still, like everyone else, he knew one of the inn's rooms had bars on the windows for good reason.

"Like the punishment room," Aiyee said, proving Bleak's idea. "I thought that was for punished who fought back."

"Yeah. But it's also for thieves and other criminals. We can pretend that's where the bad pokémon go after we beat them up, to jail." He placed extra emphasis on the last word, so Aiyee knew to use it when their game resumed.

The chill in the air subsided as Aiyee wiggled in against his side.

" _Jeel, Ja-aisle. Jail..._ you're so good at figuring stuff out," the poochyena said, easy smile taking over his muzzle. "One day, if the world's really smart, it'll give you a bunch of pokémon to boss around."

Heat gushed into the charmander's cheeks. "I don't wanna boss anyone around!" He exclaimed.

"Love you," he added, quieter.

"...Love you," Aiyee said back, grinning.

They weren't able to return to their game. Sixburrow's inn laid a good distance from where they played, yet it was more than close enough for them to see grownups trickling away from its front. The other Sixburrow orphans laid along a snowbank, mewling for gifts as pokémon shambled by. Not being chosen for punishment put many adults in a good mood, so punishing day was a good day for eating. Bleak and Aiyee sat in that line often, picking money and food out of the snow, but now he was focused on the fact this meant punishing day had 'ended.'

By now, the punishers had declared the chosen. The unlucky pokémon stays at the inn with family until their time comes around. The punishers would try to give these families privacy, which meant a few were likely outside, hunting after Sixburrow's busywork.

"Let's go do it," Bleak whispered. Aiyee gasped and started to wag his tail in consternation.

Most orphans stood no chance to claw their way out of poverty, unless they fell into a special age: young enough to be put into a den, old enough to have learned their parents' trade. But Bleak and Aiyee had a way to change their luck. They actually had something to trade.

He slipped off of their seat and picked up a bag. In the game, a satchel full of relics and treasure, in real life, crammed with almost thirty pounds of rocks. It was his mother's, and once held old books given to her for restoriation. He worried the heavy stones stretched the material.

"I'm worried," the poochyena said. "You said if someone catches us, they'll take everything away for free." No reason to pay for what could be stolen away with some 'grownup' excuse. _It's too dangerous for children,_ or _I can put this to better use than you whelps_. Even the generous moods of punishing day stretched so far.

"No one's going near the inn. It makes them all nervous."

"It makes _me_ nervous."

"A lot of punishers started like us," Bleak said, patting Aiyee's back. "They'll be happy to help us out and get something good in return. They're the ones who won't simply steal our stuff." Punishers and traders, yet the latter wouldn't be around during the winter.

Taking in a deep breath, Aiyee helped push the bag's strap onto the charmander's shoulder.

* * *

Right away, their plan met a hitch.

"I don't recognize these punishers," Aiyee yipped. "Where'd the Bonecrusher go? Or Girrup?"

Bleak never met the linoone outside the inn, but he knew the luxio bouncing up and down while relaying some story. "Look," he said, trying to console his brother, "it's Leb."

Sixburrow laid on the fringes of Orchidia, known once as the _Grass Continent._ It was a lonely place that welcomed traders far less often than its neighbors, due to the wide plains that separated it from normal trade routes. For anything intresting to happen here, and something so big as a change in leadership, put a lump in the charmander's throat.

It took years for the grownups of Sixburrow to get used to the Bonecrusher, for Bleak alone to get used to him—and his horrific name. The commander, a giant rhydon, was there for Bleak when his mother went into the dungeon. The young charmander stayed a week at the commander's camp when his father abandoned him to wade into the plains, subjected often to blizzards far too threatening to a charmeleon's tail-fire, and even kept up Bleak's hopes about his father returning. He wished he had the chance to say goodbye to the goliath.

It made him all the more determined to carry out his plan. It was so unfair to live in this chilled bubble. Where those who left stayed gone.

Bleak pushed forward without warning Aiyee. His face must have given him away, because the poochyena followed without a bit of surprise.

Leb's story trailed off as the children walked up. The linoone looked at her for an explanation, she replied by rolling her shoulders in a shrug. She was a former child of Sixburrow's den. A bit of a bully back then, but punishing humbled her, made her more wry than outright caustic.

"Hey, snots," Leb teased, using her old word for them. "Come to be the tenth pokémon asking after the change in management?"

Aiyee made a point of blinking, dazed, then focusing on the luxio. He seemed a bit baffled, cowed by her presence.

"Um, no," Bleak said. "W-We wanted to talk to all three of you. I-I'm Bleak," he offered to the linoone.

The first, with brown streaks on his back, still had a placating, childish tone from his days of begging. "Hanz!" He barked. "It's a pleasure!" He wiggled his lithe body and wagged his tail, promising to be playful rather than strict.

The other linoone bore black streaks, yet these streaks weren't defined enough to keep out his cream fur. The patch twin spoke in a husky voice. "Hi, kid! I'm Fran. We're with commander Allworthy, who will be taking over. He's nice, promise." He did the same playful wiggle, yet his appeared rehearsed. It succeeded only in putting Aiyee on edge.

"I'm Aiyee, and also I'm confused. Why is the Bonecrusher leaving?" Aiyee asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Sixburrow is too far separated from his other villages," Leb explained. "All a part of the duke's plans to keep us closer-knit."

"You've changed a lot," the poochyena said to Leb. Bleak jolted, trying to figure out where this accusation had come from.

Thankfully, Leb didn't seem too mad. "Yeah? I've got to walk a pokémon to their death this evening. Changes your mood, no matter how the sun's out. What do you two want?"

Not wasting any time, Bleak slung off his bag. This caught the punishers' attention—the satchel looked heavy and important, two things not supposed to be in a child's claws. "So, I... found these by some ruins." He pulled out one of the stones in the bag. On it was an etched drawing, too intricate to describe as a shape, too vague to define as an image. It was the right size to fit on top of his claw.

None of them spoke. Then, after swallowing, Fran piped up. "Wow!" He exclaimed. "Pretty."

"More than pretty," the charmander bragged. "They are magic. Warm to the touch... and If you put them on snow... the snow melts pretty fast."

Leb scratched her ear, baffled. "Okay... thanks for sharing."

Hanz gave a polite smile. "I mean, I can spare a poké or two..." a _poké or two_ meant they would have earned more keening for gifts on the snowbank!

Aiyee, noticing their lack of enthusiasm, threw in his own weight. "They make the melted snow pure, too!" He smiled, but Bleak almost bit his own tongue in shock. That smile faded as Aiyee realized what he said.

"How do you know that?" Hanz asked. "Sounds hard to know for sure."

"B-B-Because," Bleak stammered. "Um... I drank it as a test."

Leb guffawed. "Yeah, are you forgetting I lived with you? No way you risked your life to test some stone. You know, I'm done with this game. You two can deal, right?" The linoone shook their heads _no,_ then _maybe_ , then _I guess_. "Good. I'm going for a walk."

The children sat in silence, defeated. Bleak _way_ overestimated the value of these stones. Or, at least, their value without mentioning the fact they purified snow-water. He should have rehearsed his excuses more. Or not given his excuse in front of Leb. It was too risky telling the truth. This was the end of their plan.

"Sorry," he muttered, turning back.

Then, a miracle: "No, no! I want to know more," Fran said, looking around. "Can you show me?"

Aiyee bounced up and down. He practically robbed Bleak of the stone and threw it into a lump of snow. Right away, it started to dig into the two inches of frost. The punishers stared at it, wide-eyed.

The black-streaked linoone came forward and lapped at the ice-water. "Not sure if it's pure, but it tastes fantastic."

"Move over," Hanz complained, trying to test. They enjoyed a quick drink, then took up the stone.

"O-Okay, so, um..." Fran chuckled. "This sounds useful. Let me... let me go get some money."

The two orphans looked at each other, victory making their skin prickle.

Bleak waved a hand. "Okay, sure!"

"You found it in a ruin?" Fran asked.

"Yes," Aiyee answered.

"Hanz, er, make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

The first twin nodded, the second went to fetch his money.

Bleak closed his eyes and dreamt of seeing patients in a house of his own. It was closer than ever.

* * *

Fran and a weavile walked towards them at a brisk pace. This weavile seemed regal in appearance. Piercing placed on his head-frills glittered in the sun, and he had the body of a well-traveled pokémon, or a veteran punisher. He didn't seem like he was coming to buy stones.

It was a hair too late, but Bleak noticed how Hanz had fallen into a nervous mumble—putting out word salad in order to distract them. The higher-ranked punisher kept up his stride, and before the children knew it the scent of expensive lavender shampoo stung their noses.

His instincts screamed to back away, yet the weavile grabbed his wrist first. The grip had a mean kind of pain to this.

"His bag," the veteran ordered. The charmander froze. Like a rat resting on a monster's teeth, he had the idea that if he moved, the way to the monster's gut would open too. Long claws the color of stained teeth dug into his skin.

"Hey!" Aiyee snarled, hinting at his sharp fangs. "Don't grab him my brother that way."

Fran now had Bleak's bag in his paws. He looked like a pup who lost his mother on a busy day at market.

"Okay, now turn it over," the weavile instructed. "Dump everything out. Hanz, keep an eye on the poochyena, will you?"

It was obvious the two linoone found the situation regretful, yet they fell to order anyway. Disk after disk rained from the sack onto the snow, first making hollow _pluffs_ , then _clacks_ as they piled atop one another. A puddle of purified water formed underneath. Bleak figured out what was happening, what was being sought after, and squirmed.

The weavile picked up a disk and held it to the sunlight. "Did you find these somewhere—Fran, search the pockets and if I need to direct you again, we'll see about my recommendation," he said, all on one flurried breath. Fran winced and the rummages redoubled.

"Y-Yes!" Bleak cried. "T-T-There was a bunch in the old ruins." There were old ruins near Sixburrow, just pillar sticking out from the ground and he did leave some disks to pose as their alibi. But the pockets, they were checking all his pockets!

"This power is not so you might sell baubles to morons," the punisher spat, letting go. He surged forward and shoved his subordinate to the ground, wresting open the bag. Right away he removed a knife hidden in the snug compartment Bleak stiched himself—Bleak let out an explosive whine. "I could see the blade's handle through the fabric the entire time! Great tracker, you couldn't find your own snout."

 _He knew the entire time,_ Bleak thought. The searching and yelling served to frighten him into lying. It didn't matter now. They found his special knife, and he lied about it. He crouched down in submission, unable to decide what to say next, excuses, lies or apologies.

"You used this, didn't you?" The weavile shook it in front of him. "A mistake. You should have stowed this contract somewhere off your body, whelp."

"C-Contract?" Bleak squeaked. _Is he talking about my knife?_

"Don't joke around with me, brat... you really don't know what it is." The panic broke over, pouring right into an uncomfortable stillness. "This pattern on these disk-stones, did you design this? Or was it plastered on the side of your 'ruins?'"

Aiyee stamped his paws, readying to charge. "I can't sit out anymore!" He yelled. "You tattled on us, Fran? Uncool! I'm going to get all three of you."

"Come on, kid." Fran said. He was still reeling from the weavile's insult, frown etched onto his maw. "Settle down. Nasfereet doesn't plan to hurt your friend. I told you, investigator Nasfereet, the 'mander seems to have no idea what he did."

Aiyee growled. "If you touch him at all, I don't care how tough you are. My father taught me all sorts of tricks for dealing with bullies."

Bleak waited a moment, meeting eyes with his brother, then made a choice. "I-I used the knife... _contract_ to make it. The pattern just occurred to me one day."

Despite it sounding like another lie, Nasfereet nodded. "Come with me. You will speak to the commander."

 _A commander needs to get involved?!_ The child whimpered and threw a glance back at his brother. "C-Can he come?"

"Your sibling may attend... if he shuts up."

The poochyena gave him a glare that said: _no promises._

* * *

"I'm sorry," Fran whispered to them as they waited outside the inn. Nasfereet had gone inside to explain the situation to the commander. The news had spread, villagers fanning out to report this development. The replacement commander for Sixburrow and his lap-weasle had seized an orphan. Leb sat outside of earshot, talking to a delcatty—Momola, their was where the luxio ran off to. There was going to be ruin for this.

"Not gonna cut it," Aiyee said. "We are in so much trouble."

"Don't be silly" Hanz insisted. Fran motioned for him to lower his voice. "We are obligated to report incidents like this to superiors. Neither of you are in trouble, promise. It's... I don't know. Nasfereet is usually too caught up thinking to get angry."

"When I told him, he flew off the handle," Fran added. "At first he was like _yes, yes._ Then _what?_ And afterwards, _follow me now._ _Grr... I'm super angry..._ "

The poochyena stifled a giggle.

Fran smiled. "I'm surprised you held yourself back. Thought I was gonna have to subdue you."

"Firstly, I'd thrash you with my eyes closed. Secondly, I got the feeling Bleak didn't want me to scrap," Aiyee explained, glancing at the charmander. Bleak acknowledged him with a grunt. "He's so smart. When we play make-believe explorers, he leads our group to victory every time."

"We used to play that!" Hanz said, tail lashing.

"We send all our bad pokémon to jail to get better." It was such an odd, Aiyee-centric brag. It made Bleak wiggle his toe-claws with glee.

The linoone needed a moment to understand, to kill the beginnings of a frown. Before Bleak spotted it in the corner of his eye, Hanz's sadness was fully dead. "That's cool and merciful. It will be awhile before the commander is caught up, so maybe we can do an mission together."

Fran sighed. "Brother? Are you okay in the head? Imagine if the commander caught us playing make-believe in full view of his newly-assigned village."

"We won't be around long anyway."

"Why?" Aiyee asked.

Hanz perked his ears. "Oh." Both linoone straightened their posture in unison. "Commander Allworthy thinks we have a nose for detecting. He's going to send us to a special school in Pathen, where we can become investigators like Nasfereet."

Bleak had been staring at his empty paws, imagining his blade—a contract— was in them. Over the last year, since he freed it from the snow, he had practiced using its edge. The movements came easy to him. Yet now he couldn't explain even a small part of his progress.

He decided to let the grownups figure him out. "An Orchidian investigator?" He asked, jumping into the conversation. "Um, I thought high-ranking punishers had to be Atlasan."

Atlas. The Air Continent. They were the continent to first see the dungeons change, the first to dominate all others and implement the punishers as a solution. They brought the other lands kicking and screaming into their system, and had no shortage of pride about it. Other continents, like Orchidia, took on names to retain their own pride, yet Atlas paid it no mind.

"Nonsense, there are tons of us in high positions." Hanz rubbed a paw against his chest. "There was our commander up near Blune, for example. Er, I misspoke, forget I said anything—"

"Idiot!" Fran sneered, anger alighting his eyes. "We were ordered to keep our mouths shut!" This exclamation lacked the playfullness Fran showed before. For a second there, the twins hung in shock. "A-Anyway," he continued, settling his hackles. "I have a question. What were you planning to do with the money?"

Bleak wagged his tail thinking about it. "Go live in a city. Find a vocational school and learn a trade." The trade was medicine. Doctoring had to be how he could put his blasé attitude towards death to good use.

Aiyee struck a firm howling pose. "I want to scrap in an arena, starting way at the bottom and clambering up to the top!" A good fit. The poochyena managed to be sturdy and healthy in a life not known for its feasts. It was as though he found more 'food' in food. "Those exist, right? They aren't just story-stuff?"

The two linoone nodded, starting a fire in the poochyena's eyes.

"Told you," Bleak said to his overjoyed brother.

"What about your other siblings?" Hanz asked. "It will cost a lot of money for all of you."

The charmander had tried for years to put a nice spin on his response. Like the contract, all the good words flittered out of reach. "I don't care about them as much as I care about Aiyee. I bet you felt the same way, being twins."

"Wow. That's pretty cold, but I do understand. We were almost assigned to different villages." Hanz's ears flicked. "One of the dukes here in Orchidia, Duke Brazen, came down here personally to see us stick together. A freakin' Duke did that for us! I promise that Atlasan leadership is awesome. We haven't met a bad apple yet. I wanted to tell you this because, well..."

"Quit fraternizing," Nasfereet shouted from the top of the stairs. He pounded down the steps as if ready to smack all four of them back to their senses. They kept their bodies rigid until a wry smile broke past the weavile's scowl. "Relax, I'm kidding. I can be quite intimidating, hm?"

Aiyee snuck in a challenging "I'm not afraid of you" while the others nodded.

"It's easy to maintain dominacne with your sort," he admitted. "All Orchidians startle so easily."

"I bet all this snow has made the investigator upset," Hanz said, glad to partake in some friendly banter. " _Me Nasfereet, nomad from Sand Continent. No name continent cause we numbskull."_

Nasfereet frowned and rolled his eyes towards the door. "Shut up."

 _"Travel same circle every year. Aargh! White sand cold-cold. Yellow much warmer, much deliciouser—_ oh no. _"_

"Tasteful," commander Allworthy said. Nasfereet had to pull open the other door to allow room for the stoutland's right shoulder. It was difficult for either of the children to see past his mane—he and Aiyee could crawl into it and become lost in the fur. Add in the fact that commanders basically ruled over their assigned villages, and the beast kept growing larger and larger before the children's eyes. Allworthy peeled his lips into a snarl, distorting the stiched-in pattern on the top of his muzzle. "I hope you aren't taking that humor with you to Pathen. Perhaps I ought to make sure you leave it and forget it here." The snowfall stopped, like the snow itself had gasped.

"I am sorry, so sorry," the subordinate whispered, head bowed low to the ground. Unlike the linoone, even Nasfereet, Allworthy bore a special weight. When Bleak looked into his eyes, he remembered that punishers sent pokémon to die. It made him scared all over again.

A moment passed, where the stoutland muled over a punishment. By some miracle, he simply breathed out and sat on the porch. _Imagine what he'd do if he caught them playing make-believe,_ the charmander thought.

Nasfereet nodded to the charmander. "Wait until the commander is finished speaking. Keep your answers short—don't prattle."

"O-Okay," Bleak said.

Allworthy's glare put ten pounds on his shoudlers. "So I hear you have a contract."

"Yes."

"Explain where you came by it."

"I-I was..." he swallowed and chose to point over in the direction of the fields, empty now execpt for the snow. Planted in the middle of the empty plot, attached to an ancient tool-shed, lived the orphans and their denmother. Thirteen children in total, and it was Bleak who happened to be on a walk with Aiyee when they saw the blade... the contract, sticking out of the ground.

"That would be near their home," the investigator supplied for Allworthy.

The commander grunted in appreciation. "And when you found it, how was that day?"

"I recovered from being sick," Bleak said. Aiyee drooped down. "I'm not very strong. The chill that winter almost killed me. Aiyee took me out for a walk, and I saw it, and I got addicted to using it to carve stuff, and my brother had to take it away for a bit because I started..." it felt too odd for a grownup to let him speak for so long. He ran out of words.

A plume of white smoke jetted out of Allworthy's snout. "So the poochyena took your blade. It's a habit of your sort in the beginning, to practice carving patterns on your own skin, or the skin of others. A burgeoning form of a madness. Denmothers and parents often find children like you harming others with sharp objects and take them away. If you like the power, you ought to thank your sibling for taking it first while you adjusted."

 _He's right! I did try to put a drawing on my own belly..._ Hope for an explanation made his stomach quiver. Perhaps out of turn, Bleak blured out a question: "what _sort_ am I?" Hopefully his kind was an oprhan, allowed to take his luck, sell discs, and carry out his dream.

In an instant Allworthy crushed it. "A spirit welder. You design the patterns we use in our special equipment. Instant communication between villages, light-sources for dark caves and night-marching, how we choose the punished, explosives."

Bleak gaped. _Explosives?_ It was a far step from melting snow.

Before he knew it, the weavile had looped around his side, leading him onto the porch. Allworthy grunted out a series of orders. "You two take the poochyena home and inform the denmother that..."

"Bleak," Nasfereet said, continuing to shove the child towards the inn's doors.

The name seemed to anger the giant. It made the Bonecrusher furious, too. " _He_ pushed up my schedule. Hanz, Fran, consider yourselves investigators-in-training. You wil escort the spirit welder to Pathen, starting tomorrow, while the weather is fair enough to not murder him."

"What... _what_?" Bleak dug his feet into the snow, naughtily moving his tail-fire close to the weavile's face to make him slow down. "P-Pathen? What's happening?"

"You wasted enough time living without practice—get this out of my face!" He swatted the tail away, not minding the small fire. There was a reason for Bleak's name. "You need instruction as soon as possible."

"What about Aiyee?!"

They stopped. Aiyee raised his paw, ever-ready to follow his brother, yet no one's look promised he would get to come along this time.

"Can you use a contract?" Allworthy asked him.

"I don't like it," the poochyena admitted. "It makes me feel funny."

All the punishers started moving again. "You will need to say goodbye for now," Allworthy said. "Until you can make the trip on your own. Or become a punisher and prove you're worthy of schooling in Pathen."

"No!" Bleak shouted. "I don't want to go, then!" Realization hit hard and fast. The moment they discovered his blade it was over. He hadn't seen it coming, swept up in the excitement and their respect. Was he an idiot, or a child for a second? He tried to imagine years without AIyee nearby and couldn't get past the morning, where he woke up to his brother's gabbing. _Let's do this, and this, and I thought of this all on my own..._ they hadn't saved the world from Dialga yet.

"Most kids are grateful," Allworthy said, more annoyed than disappointed by this development.

"Apparently I'm not most kids, see if I make a single thing without him by my—"

Allworthy smacked him across the face, sending him sailing into a nearby post. White frills spun around the edges of his vision. Right away, he shuddered and sobbed, sliding down the wood and collecting splinters.

"Talk back to me again!" Allworthy ordered. "Love to meet a single 'spirit welder' with spirit."

Hanz and Fran startled. The cuff curbed their enthusiasm at having been confirmed as investigators-in-training.

The brown-streaked linoone spoke up fast, tail rigid with caution. "U-Um, commander, I believe he will be less resistant, if... well... could you let Aiyee stay with him overnight, please?" He asked, his suggestion crumbling into a plea.

Allworthy let loose an angry snort. "Fine. This dependency is the sun fox's fault. He's made you orphans all into clingy children! You're fortunate, 'welder,' that I don't find enjoyment in striking you."

Aiyee ran to Bleak's side and clacked his teeth in protest. The commander shot down to see the whelp on eye level, and even the brave pup found himself choked.

Numb and confused, Bleak learned just how much could change in an hour. They padded into the inn quietly, villagers starting to speak out loud about their emerging predicament. It didn't help, in the end, that they could hear the punished and his family weeping in a nearby room. He redoubled his own cries, claws still clutched on his mother's bag.


End file.
